


Insanity is Elegant

by prblue



Category: Dr. STONE (Manga)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Implied/Referenced Sexual Harassment, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Mental Instability, Obsession, One Shot, Smoking, Unhealthy Relationships, does not follow drstone plot, i cant tag 4 shit, stanley is not okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:42:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25360324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prblue/pseuds/prblue
Summary: Not being able to relish life, Stanley Snyder hated not being normal due to his revolting past. But he also might have found the purpose for his existence.
Relationships: Stanley Snyder/Dr.Xeno, Stanley Snyder/Xeno
Comments: 2
Kudos: 22





	Insanity is Elegant

**Author's Note:**

> i love them, im so obsessed with them. that's all i have to say. this one shot does not follow the original plot-line of DR STONE!!! i felt extremely bad writing this though. i didn't want stanley to suffer goddammit. but i also wanted to write stanley's experience in the military and him being fascinated by xeno iajdaijdaifjaifj
> 
> just a small disclaimer. english is not my main language so i apologize in advance if my writing is shit. i try my best to not sound too wordy but(iusuallyfail). mentions of death and suicide so please avoid reading this if it makes you uncomfortable. i also apologize for any mistakes in regards to the armed forces(im not very knowledgable about it)

A flower that has deteriorated long ago, _does it do the equivalent to the other blooms?_ One wilted bud of blossoms can cause anarchy if the root is contiguous. But how relevant it is when **no** flowers are surrounding him in the first place? The truth is, _birds_ will still hum their beautiful tunes. _Flowers_ will still blossom rather stunningly. _And the world will stay as peaceful as it is._ It was as if they all gathered up and conspired to inform him the world would go on without Stanley Snyder.

 _He does not mind that kind of mockery at this point._ He did experience worse, after all, being in a military did great to his mental-self. _It does not matter who dies at the end of the road. Does not matter._

Stanley Snyder never had the repulsive turmoil caused by the intimidation of his own possible, and very much, solicited death.

Not in the least aimed to even be a bit agitated to the possibilities that could be flourished. Just from his soul deserting from the world because frankly, who is there to care? _He is just a mere soldier who completed his service by rotting on the field._ Who to provide what is essential for his well-being? _He is a loner, always been_. _He did choose to be a sniper to avoid associating with other soldiers as much as possible._ How can he obtain his stagnant firm belief of this world if it always finds a way to go against his yearnings? Stanley finds comfort in what he does. People call him an idiot when he is found trying to attempt his favourite gruesome ritual or when he speaks about the reason why he joined the Armed Forces in the first place. A man finds absolutely no reason to live anymore, being in military made it only worse for him.

Can you blame him for wanting to cease living? He tried to take every opportunity to die in the field. At the very least if his death was announced, the reasoning of his demise was for a noble cause. But to sum up, Stanley wants to _fucking_ die. Ever since the military, he craved it more than anything. Nobody will care about him, just like he won't as well. Even when he got promoted to being a military officer now, the scars are as visible as ever. 

They skillfully haunt him.

But one thing to remark about Stanley Snyder within his military years, his _passion_ to write. The only hobby he picked up while being in soldiery. Something he frequently does to keep himself sane from the things he has witnessed and experienced himself. He believes he can be whom he wants without contemplating the weights of formulating his contaminated desires that could be reckoned as repugnant to regular people. Yet, it has its own contradictory consequences that brought visible distress to those whom he yearned to offer his pain with. He tried making friends, _he really did._ But in consideration of his physical appearance and his mental-self, it did him no good. Writing brought so much relief to him. And without it, his heart would have blackened, beyond recognition. _It enabled him to illustrate his sea of sentiments to it._

He had gone through a lot. He is trying to grasp every bit of rationality he has by writing and writing and _constantly writing. ~~But how far that will get him?~~ _He needs severe mental guidance. He knows. He really does. The officers advised it to him multiple times since many soldiers tend to undergo what he is currently enduring. But at the same time, _he has no reason to._ Snyder is _utterly_ done for.

This world is surely a captivating chunk of life. He would admit so, as he a _one_ that has witnessed the ugly and the elegant. A world that has conferred patterns of elements and prowled with a great value of provisions that many craves to possess on, _greedily_. Then there is his very own existence. A one that seemed to never indulge in the beauty of this world nor even comprehend the importance of it. His optics analyzes and sees what others don't and his mind understands more wisdom than he truly favours.

He asks himself rather frequently... Why cannot _he_ be deceived like the others and just for once, _feel a bit worthy to call himself a human?_ He wished to believe so. Yet, his life is made of disgrace. Stanley never denied his obvious femininity, nor his interest on the similar-sex during the military. But that backlashed. How can he call himself a human when he was constantly sexually harassed **_and more—_** _by the_ enemies and his own damn colleagues due to his delicate features. The fact that this became so common in his life, is _amusing_. He never asked to look like this. He never asked to be what they all called him before he got promoted, _a pretty boy._

Despite it being in the past, he is fucking Stanley Snyder. He is a damn military officer now and what the fuck they are?

Yet, they still call him an idiot again when he speaks sincerely about his will to die. Being a military officer is as terrible as being active in the field. Writing did him miracles for many years. But now, he demands more relief than what writing brought. _Winter, is what his heart now._ The most profound month of it specifically, so cold, discourteous and inevitable winter. No possibility for gleams of humanity and commiseration towards the world and its people. Stanley Snyder believes demise is the answer to his satisfaction.

His experience in the Armed Force convinced him more that everyone is more deceiving to one another. Which is something he appears to be really skilful at by now. The only exception is that he seems to be the only one who is aware of this natural-trait of deception. He is at a certain extent where he cannot predict what it must be like to live the life of a living being. At least he is done playing the game of mutual treachery now. It means nothing when he is the only one conscious of it.

Many seem to grasp the uncomplicated and Stanley is included too. His eyes became more exposed to the embodiment of humanity that many disregarded. Of life furnishing everyone with its self-evident unfairness and all intimate brutality. Nothing can utterly compete with the irrelevant hideousness of a subservience this world seemed to always bestow to its only despairing children. He was heavily tortured many times for information since he used to operate independently as a sniper within the field. Sexually assaulted multiple times to the point where a single physical human-contact by a partner traumatizes the shit out of him. The number of times he considered to kill himself (while being captured because he knows the opponents can do much worse to him) was very, very tempting. Till now it is.

Being him and doing what he used to do as a sniper is very far from being fucking harmless. Honestly, he heavily despised his job and he never denied it. Even though he was damn good at it. But the amount of shut-eye sessions he wasted, the amount of stress he gained from it that has developed his addiction to smoking, Stanley is an utter mess.

 _And yet, many, almost all, seemed to ignore the reality_. Fear what is must be feared and attend the so-called, ''The Laws of Moral'' for continuance within this fraudulent world. A non-existent, peaceful manner of living to be rewarded with the graces of this world. In return to disregard the obvious. Soldiers who successfully survived end up in severe mental help in an attempt to forget the pain. But Stanley does not deserve to blind his eyes from the truth. He chose to live his life with every scar he endured outside and inside the field.

He promised himself he would never go to therapy. Even if it costs his shreds of sanity.

**.**

Current events, there is his _humble_ , _mute_ soul. For some odd reason, this time _wailing_ and fascinated by a stranger's appearance. Stanley Snyder questioned his motives right now, and his purpose of being here.

Perhaps this is the first time he felt something for awhile.

His feels of severe hostility towards this life that many cherished has painted his very darkened soul to what he is now. Sealing what is deemed required to be acknowledged as mortal and bequeathing a sin that questions what humanity is(this still hasn't changed). But here he is, fearing this moment of pleasure now with this _stranger who he just met_ , as it tastes quite immigrant on his tongue. 

His eyes looking straight to what he believes can only religiously worship in this world. Long, and thick trails of feathery white on this coarse-featured canvas with humble flying bits of strands. Swirling gracefully yet too well-planned for his liking. Admittedly, offering a sort of elegance and genuine beauty that willed upon his weathering soul.

A cloak of dazzling light as the ardent globe streams through the clouds in rays of gold and orange, granting an artistic finish to this beautiful human his eyes cannot seem to neglect _at all._

_This man is breath-taking._

_"Is it just me or the clouds are more elegant than usual?'' He spoke. It was soft and sincere._

He _heard,_ agreed mentally and _lingered soundlessly._ He kept his eyes locked onto what making his soul flourish for the first time in _forever._ His lips are slightly open in astonishment while his palms clenching to every bit of humanity left within him. Tightly out of frustration and _confusion, Stanley Snyder is locked in a prison cell of his unmeaningful feelings._ What a pity he really is. Sometimes his whole-self provides good humour.

He would believe in the existence of hell, but this **_moment_** could be the kind of heaven he wished it existed before.

As the cold wind flew their soft hair together in a melodious manner, he sighed deeply and moved his gaze to the clouds now to see what the man meant by it looking _elegant_ than usual and as he expected, it looked the same as he remembered it. _Dull._ Still very artificial and undeniably repetitive. He can't even appreciate normal things humans can.

Then a small smirk formed on his pale face as the _realization_ hit him. Thoughts of who truly has the 'supposed-characteristics' of a sky by now. Is it the sky itself or _Xeno, who he agreed upon?_ The clouds can't even compare to this man next to him. The beauty of the devious that's spoken clearly in his eyes and the beauty of Xeno's intriguing soul that admires the world so deeply by just simply looking at what Stanley deems as _hideous. Stanley is completely and utterly obsessed with him for his pureness._

 _This_ ** _Xeno_** _is too good for him. Beautiful, this man is truly is._ Stanley does not deny what is a pleasant sight to see. Does not deny the beauty of this living human that breathes life into him. After so many fucking years. Years of pure devastation and strong urges to die, _what is this intoxicating feeling?_ He came here by orders to help an important research. Not to be heavily influenced by a stranger's appearance and his sincerity to the world. He has everything he ever wanted. The ability to accept the world and still be able to love it as it is. Dr Xeno is a well-known scientist. He read about him in the newspapers many times, heard his name from soldiers regarding his popular researches but he never fretted enough to venture further about him.

''So..'' He spoke again, this time a bit loudly for Stanley to hear. Charcoal eyes shifting off from the sky to stare at him and changing his position so he can lay comfortably on the grass. Stanley stared at him _again_ , inundating through his thoughts. A bit surprised on how comfortable this man next time despite them being strangers. His thoughts straying away merely about the freshness of this melody that he's oddly infatuated to by now.

''Stanley Snyder? Elegant name.''

_And Stanley wondered this time if he is allowed to greedily kill Xeno for his twisted desires. Not for his purpose._

_To demolish the only beauty that makes him..._ _A human._

He widely smirked. Odour offensively thickened with the stick of death within his fingers, as it rises to allure its trace of deadly fumes. His face got awfully close to the static scientist and seductively looked at those charcoal pools who stared back as intensely. Stanley is not in the right mentality to make decisions, if anything, it is easy for him to be sickeningly addicted to something like the cigarette between his fingers. But this man, _he wants him._ Oh, he so desperately wants him to suffer as much as him and make him resent the world.

_He wants him for himself only._

The existence of this stranger was only an _admonition_ , a **_reminder_ **of his very, unsought, _worst fears_ and **_how he should be like._** To taint him until he cracks and shatters to a series of noncollectable pieces of disheartening blues, to _tear_ his loved soul apart, to _corrupt_ every _incompatibility_ left within his petite figure. With the result of Xeno _holding_ desperately on him to simply _breathe_ and _live_.

Stanley is not in the right fucking mentality to make decisions and he does not care.

With the all well-known resentment within Stanley conducted to this inadequate universe. His sight of conflict and the so revolting bitterness he got accustomed to were ample to halt and weight down his orbs with ebony feathers of misfortune. But _emotions_ are underrated. They are like _a sea of flames, of_ an obstinate _thermal reading. He can't control how he feels about Xeno. He wants more. He wants to feel more of him._

Stanley Snyder never said he was _a good guy._ He has no reason to when the world never was good to him. Maybe staying alive for a while now can be quite...

**_Elegant._**

**Author's Note:**

> just to make it clear. first segment is stanley’s perspective to life. second segment is the present. also, i’m not sure if you have noticed, but i tried my best to trick you guys into thinking that stanley was describing clouds. but in reality, he was describing xeno the entire time 
> 
> please follow my twitter! @prblue_  
> it is very much appreciated.


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